Never Coming Home
by IamAlbagubrath
Summary: I'm still working out all the details because I just thought this up at like 7 am after no sleep, so bear with me. Post-Sign of Three. *Slightly Spoilery* After John and Mary's wedding, the consulting detective finds himself dealing with problems he never thought he would ever after to deal with. Heart break, PTSD, drug abuse, and a terrible secret that would ruin more than one fr
1. Chapter 1

**Never Coming Home**

**Chapter I | Silently Broken**

Sherlock looked around the dance floor, trying to find Janine. When he didn't his smiled faltered as she pointed to the man he had picked out for her, a bright smile on her face even though she was still holding his boutonnière. Sighing, the brunette backed away and looked around. He gave up on thinking about finding someone to dance with. Silently he wandered up on the stage and placed the sheet music to John and Mary's waltz into the envelope, before slipping away to find his coat.

Sherlock slipped away unseen, everyone was too busy dancing and smiling to even notice that the best man had vanished from the party. He wasn't good at parties anyways. Straddling his motorcycle, the brunette took one more look over at the building, listening to the music play loudly. People laughing and cheering.

At that moment he felt something inside him start to tear in two. A feeling he hadn't gotten since his father died. Swallowing hard, he sat there thinking before placing his helmet on his head.

He had grown a heart only to have it broken.

Learned to love, only to be forgotten.

Gained a best friend, only to be replaced.

There was nowhere for such things in his mind. What use was a heart only to have it shattered in a million pieces every time he got close to someone. It wasn't worth it to him.

_You made a vow to keep them safe Sherlock._

"Shut the bloody hell up. Of course I'll keep it… but I just… I can't be here," He mumbled and stood up, slamming his foot on the kick start and listening as the bike roared to life

_I don't belong here._

He revved the throttle and started to pull out of the lot.

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When the song stopped Mary looked around, gently patting at John's chest. "I'm going to dance with Sherlock." She turned to John, who smiled at her and nodded, surveying the crowd. His face fell a little when he didn't see him though. "Maybe he went out for a smoke or something."

"I think he left John."

The doctor turned and looked over at Molly, who had walked up behind him. He furrowed his brows a little and opened his mouth to say something, but Mary beat him to it. "What do you mean he left?" The brunette woman nodded and pointed up to where Sherlock had been playing. "He went up there and put the sheet music away and walked out the door. I thought maybe he was going for a smoke or something as well, but it's about ten minutes."

Suddenly John was jerked away from Molly, being pulled out the door by Mary as she looked around the parking lot for Sherlock's motorcycle, only to hear the rev and watch him turn out of the drive. She frowned and turned to John who was watching silently.

"John. All that work we did making sure he was okay with this and he still-…"

The blond shook his head and tried to smile. "I'm sure he's fine. Probably just too many people for him." He reasoned as he pulled his hand away from her and turned around to go back in, only to be stopped with a sudden jerk. "John… he didn't say goodbye." The doctor froze and looked back at her, then where the motorcycle had turned to leave the drive. "I'm sure he's okay. Come on. Back to the party." He said with a smile, tugging her hand as she looked back once more where Sherlock had gone.

Once back inside she went to her phone and sent a quick message, since John was playing it off.

_To: Sherlock_

_You didn't say goodbye twat._

_XO_

_Mary._

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Pulling up to Mycroft's home he sighed. Killing the engine before pushing open the gate to his brother's yard. He closed it behind him and walked up the long driveway, stopping to lean over his bike and pull off the helmet before digging in his pockets for the keys. Sherlock quietly walked up the stairs to the front door, finally finding his keys and tugging them out the brunette held them in his right hand and aimed for the key hole. He cursed softly as his hand shook so much he dropped them. Sherlock took a step back and frowned, putting his hands out in front of him and watching as his right one shook.

_Intermittent tremor. _

_PTSD._

"Shut up, that's stupid. Me with PTSD? Pfft." He scoffed it off and leaned down to snatch the keys up, using his left hand this time to push them into the lock and open it. He stopped when he felt his pocket buzzing at him. Furrowing his brows Sherlock reached inside and pulled out the phone, looking over the message that made him smile a little.

_To: Mary_

_Sorry, wasn't feeling well. Too much to drink. Can't handle a lot after the stag. Goodnight._

_SH_

It was late already. Past midnight. Since Mycroft decided it was a wonderful idea to live out in the middle of nowhere, it took him forever to get here. But finally he was able to enter the house with a soft sigh as he pushed the door shut as quietly as he could. He just hoped his nosey older brother would stay asleep.

_Don't get involved._

_I don't get involved. _

_Yes, unless it has to do with me, then you're right in it. _

He thought to himself, rolling his eyes at the thought. Pulling off his dress shoes and coat, Sherlock made his way to the living room. He was glad Mycroft had decided against a dog, although considering the somewhat lax security, maybe he should rethink that decision. But for now it was okay with him. Sitting down on the oversized couch he sighed a little and rubbed his face with his hand. He could still feel his right hand trembling. He hated it. He didn't want to think that there was something wrong with him. He had thought there was something wrong with him all his life. He spent years, reading through books trying desperately to find something.

But he never did.

And now there was something.

He didn't like not knowing.

Sherlock loosened his tie until he was able to pull it off and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it over to the chair next to him. The brunette yawned and sat there, bare chested and staring into the darkness. When his mind when blank, he undid the button and zipper on his pants before turning into the couch and pulling the blanket over him.

Closing his eyes he didn't even realize he was crying. He didn't even realize it, totally lost to the confines of sleep.

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Sherlock woke the next morning to the sound of papers shuffling and coffee cups clinking on the table. He blinked his eyes and turned to see his brother sitting in the chair near him. "Mycroft… how long have you been there? What time is it?" He pushed himself up from the chair and shoved a hand through his wild hair. "A little after 10, I've been up since seven. I just let you sleep but there's coffee in the kitchen if you want some." The brunette looked over at his brother and did as he was told, padding into the kitchen for some coffee. Just pouring it was a hassle. His hand was still shaking and it made him a little nervous to be honest.

After collecting himself and his coffee, Sherlock went back to the living room. "You don't mind that I stayed here last night do you?" He asked as he moved to sit back down on the couch, watching as Mycroft shook his head. "No, that's why you have a set of keys brother dear." He hummed looking over at him, flashing a smile at the Sherlock returned before reaching for his coffee, trying to steady his right hand, but of course the all too observant older Holmes brother caught it. Dropping his paper in his lap, he moved to sit up a little bit. "Sherlock? Are you alright?" The brunette quickly placed his cup down and pulled his hands back and started to wring them. "I…" Swallowing hard he stared at his hand for a moment before looking back up at his brother. "I don't know. It's been shaking since yesterday." Mycroft lifted himself from his chair and walked over to his brother, who scooted down the couch to make room for him as he took his hand, feeling the tremor before looking up at Sherlock. "Sherlock, I'm worried about you. What else has been going on?"

He frowned and shrugged a little. "I heard John's voice once when he wasn't there." Sherlock swallowed and shifted on the seat looking down at his shaking hand. "I think you need to talk to someone. About what happened, about what is happening. Are you—you didn't go back on drug did you?" He asked with a serious face as Sherlock held out both his arms and looked at him firmly. "Not of my own accord. If you would have _intervened _a little sooner I wouldn't be…" He frowned a little and brought his arms back to his chest, wrapping them around him.

"Broken."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II | Unfamiliar Pain, Unlikely Reactions**

It was quiet the next couple days. Really Mycroft was rather surprised that Sherlock willingly stayed with him. Well as willingly as he could. The older Holmes brother had taken the key to his motorcycle and wasn't about to give it back until he knew for certain that Sherlock was going to be okay to drive.

The younger Holmes brother sat in Mycroft's chair as he ran on the treadmill. Sherlock was looking very bored as he tossed the little blue ball against the wall. It would hit the wall, then the floor and back into his hand.

He did it a few more times before it got away from him and ricocheted like a bullet off the wall towards Mycroft who had just gotten off the treadmill.

"Vatican Cameos!"

Sherlock yelled and Mycroft ducked out of the way of the bullet ball that shattered through the window. The older brother stood, looking over at the broken window, before turning his gaze back to his brother. Sherlock smiled a little despite Mycroft's glare.

"Oops."

"Oops? Really Sherlock?"

"Yes, oops."

Mycroft scoffed and let out a groan, going over to in the window to inspect it. "Really Sherlock, this is ridiculous."

"It was an accident!" He retorted trying to give an innocent look that never worked on Mycroft anyways. He sighed and just waved his hand at him. "Please just go find something else to do."

Sherlock frowned a little and pulled himself out of the chair and headed for the door way. "You know, if you gave me my keys back I could just leave." Mycroft sighed and his face went soft. "I don't want you to leave; I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine." Sherlock stated quickly as he looked over his brother, face tightening as he got more agitated. "I know I'm pestering you and I'm not even trying anymore. Just let me go home so I'm out of your hair."

"Sherlock, you aren't-."

Mycroft had turned away for a moment only to turn back and see that his brother was gone. He sighed and moved back over to get the water from the table, deciding it was better to let him be for a little while.

Sherlock was testy today.

And bored.

That made him even harder to deal with, even with withdrawals. "He'll be okay for a while; I'll go check on him later." Mycroft muttered out loud to himself before getting on the exercise bike

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Sherlock too refuge away from his big brother in the spare room. It was his room, whether Mycroft admitted it or not. He knew he never let anyone else stay in there.

This was a fairly big house, why would he need to share?

He had clothes in here; note books, the blankets and pillow were his own.

Staring at the ceiling, the brunette was trying to figure out what he was feeling. He would lift his phone and look it over, silently wishing for text.

Anything really.

He just wanted to talk to John, but he knew he was probably getting ready to leave on his honeymoon. Sherlock sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was really just trying to figure out what he was really feeling. The more he thought about John, the more he could feel the tremor in his arm start to get more intense. Almost to the point it hurt. The brunette shifted and lifted his hand watching it shake. "Christ. What's wrong with me?"

"You're in love with John."

Sherlock jumped and sat up, looking over at his brother who was leaning against the door frame to his bedroom. "Mycroft! I know this is your house, but can't I get one damn moment to think alone?" He hissed, feeling an ache in his arm start. Moving his left hand over, he gripped his right shoulder. "Well you were talking aloud so I thought I would help."

"I am not _in _love with John. I love him, yes, but I am not in love with him."

Mycroft made a scoffing noise that immediately made Sherlock want to punch him. He figured it was something between the fact that he was withdrawing and that he was being accused of feelings he didn't think were actually there.

The younger Holmes brother didn't want to walk to him about it because… well.

Because Mycroft was never wrong.

Sherlock flopped on his side and curled into a ball, gripping his phone tightly. "Go away, I'm tired." He mumbled and listened for him to move. "Sherlock… we have to talk about th-…"

"I say go away!"

He screamed and turned his head to look over at his brother with a glare before laying his head back on the pillow. Finally the door clicked shut and he could hear the footfalls make their way down the hall. When the sound vanished he rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling again.

Thinking over his brother's words.

_You're in love with John._

He furrowed his brows and thought about it more and more. How much it hurt him to watch him marry her.

Watching him kiss her.

Watching him dance with her.

The ache in his chest started all over again.

Sherlock covered his mouth and felt his eyes start to sting. "Oh god." He muttered to himself as he closed his eyes tightly, feeling the tears start to fall out of his eyes.

_Of course Mycroft was right. _

_He's never wrong._

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Mycroft left Sherlock alone for the rest of the day. It was so odd for him to know he was there but not to see or even hear him. He had walked by the room a couple times and could have sworn he heard muffled crying, but Mycroft was smart about this.

He was suffering from withdrawals.

He had just watched his best friend get married, and left the wedding early because he knew he didn't have a place there anymore.

And now he knew he was in love with him.

Plus god knows what else happened to him why he was gone.

The older brunette stared at the door and shifted. He wasn't good at comforting Sherlock. He had never been good at comforting Sherlock. Not when they lost their father, or their brother, or even Redbeard. He never once held him as he cried and now, in his cold heart he was starting to regret it.

Right now though, it was better to leave him to be alone.

Or so he kept thinking. But his mind was spinning from one place to another. Should he comfort him, even though he had told him to go away? Or should he leave him alone like he always had been. Sherlock wasn't the same person anymore.

Even Mycroft could see that through his façade. He wasn't stony and guarded like he used to be and the longer he watched his brother, the more he could see that terrified little boy come through. The one who use to come to him at night when he had bad dreams and Mycroft would just tell him to go away.

_Knock, knock._

_Mycroft shifted in his bed and groaned._

_Knock, knock._

_Light tapping at the door. _

_The brunette scowled and opened his eyes to look at the time, it was a little after three. Another soft knock and he pulled himself out of the bed, walking over to the door and opening it harshly, tired eyes stared down at the tiny boy with wild sleep stricken locks. "What do you want Sherlock?" The little boy lifted his arms up to his brother, wanting to be held. "I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?"_

_Mycroft stared at him. "No. You're being stupid, dreams can't hurt you, now go back to bed." He shut the door hard and walked back to his bed as he listened to his little brother cry and go over to the next door, knocking at it. _

_A softer voice, talking to him as he spoke through his tears. _

"_James, I had a b-bad dream and Mycroft told me I w-was stupid."_

"_Oh, don't listen to him, come sleep with me sweetie. Come on Redbeard."_

_The door shut with a click._

Mycroft would never know why he was so hard on Sherlock.

Probably because he took over his spot of being the youngest.

But then James died and he became the oldest, he still was a bad big brother and he knew it.

Finally making up his mind to give it a shot, he grabbed the knob. Knocking once he turned it and opened the door to the dark room. "Sherlock? Can I talk to you?" It was silent, but he could hear shifting on the bed as the younger man moved to sit up.

"I don't want to talk Mycroft. I just want to forget everything that's going on at the moment. Just leave me alone."

"Sherlock, please. I want to help."

The younger brunette let out a hurt sounding laugh as he came around bed into the light. He glared at Mycroft with eyes so hard he almost wanted to back away from him. "You had your chance to be a big brother and you shoved me away, told me I was stupid, unworthy to be here. So I don't want to confide in you." Sherlock shook his head and pushed past him. "You don't know how to love anyways, how could you help me?"

"Now hang on a second!" Mycroft yelled and grabbed his shoulder, only to have Sherlock grab his arm with both hands.

Suddenly he was flipped over his shoulder and landed hard on his back, staring up at the ceiling and his brother who was standing over him. The air had been completely knocked out of him, making him gasp and cough a little. Sherlock walked over him, without another word and down the hall.

He didn't say where he was going or what he was doing.

Mycroft didn't need to be told.

The sound of the door slamming and the bike starting told him everything.

Sherlock was leaving.

For once in his life he was terrified for his brother.

When the air returned to him, he managed to pull himself up and walk into the kitchen where his phone was.

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The shrill ringing was enough to pull both John and Mary out of their slumber. The blond woman shoved her husband and rolled over. "John, phone." The blond man grunted and reached over for it.

"Hello?"

"_John, it's Mycroft."_

The doctor immediately moved to sit up, flipping on the lamp. Mary turned and arched a brow at him.

"Who is it?"

John only held up a hand to keep her quiet. "Mycroft? What's wrong?"

Mary moved and sat up with him now, a look of worry on her face.

"_It's Sherlock. There's something wrong with him and I think I just made it worse. We got into a fight and he walked out. I'm worried he's going to be looking for drugs."_

"Shit. I'll go look for him now. I need information about places he would be." John got out of bed and started grabbing clothes as he listened to Mycroft tell him where to look.

"_If he's in none of those places, go back to Baker Street. That will be where he goes when he's done getting high." _

John nodded his head and hung up the phone, looking over at the blond. "I have to go find him. He's in trouble." She nodded and gave him a sad look.

"I told you something was wrong with him."

John sighed and looked down at his feet before nodding. "I didn't want to believe it. But I'll be back. If he comes here, be careful, call me right away."

Mary nodded and watched as John walked out the door and into the London night to try and find Sherlock.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III | Do It**

Sherlock only stopped one place after leaving is brother's house. That was the only place he needed to stop. He just needed some good stuff, making sure that way he could enjoy the high without getting sick as hell.

Pulling into the back of the flat Sherlock parked his motorcycle between the small alley to hide it, wanting to make sure no one knew he was home. He really didn't feel like dealing with anyone.

And if he knew Mycroft as well as he thought, he was sure he either called some of his people or worse, John.

He frowned at the slightly pain in his chest as he thought about him. The wedding flashing through his head, how Mary and him danced while Sherlock played the song he wrote for them.

Sherlock did love them both.

All three of them.

He sighed as he walked into the flat as quietly as he could, going up the stairs and shutting the door behind him, making sure to lock both the kitchen and the living room one. He didn't need Mrs. Hudson coming upstairs and coming in on him shooting up. He got enough hassle from her just for leaving the place a mess.

Sitting down on the couch Sherlock lightly pulled one of the boards up. He went down on his knees and felt in the hole for the box he wanted. Finally his hand hit something hard and he pulled it out, blowing off the dust. Sherlock set the box on the table and replaced the board, turning his eyes to look over at it. Trying to desperately decide if he wanted to do this.

_Anything's better than this feeling, you know that Sherlock._

"How do you know?"

_Do you like this feeling?_

"No, but—"

_Then do it. _

"John will be angry."

There was a long bit of silence and Sherlock thought that the voice in his head was going to silence itself and let him be. Then he could put the box back into the floor and flush the drugs. He wouldn't have to get high. He could have a drink and go to bed. But Sherlock was never that lucky.

He didn't believe in luck.

Or coincidence.

The universe is rarely so lazy.

_He chose her over you Sherlock. You died for him. Tortured for two years to keep him safe, and yet he didn't choose you. _

_You watched him marry her. You were his best man. You played the song you wrote for him while he danced with her, and then you were cast aside. _

_No longer important. _

_Do it Sherlock._

_They lied to you._

_Nothing was supposed to change._

_But everything did._

_Do it._

Sherlock took a breath and gave in. He prepped the drugged and with his shaking right hand he filled the needle. He pulled his belt off his pants and wrapped it around his arm. He held the needle in his mouth as he smacked his arm to get the veins to rise a little. He took hold of the needle and hesitated as he positioned it.

_He chose her._

_Not you. _

_You don't matter to him Sherlock._

_Just do it._

_It's better than feeling this way, you know it is._

_And after all, as much as you deny it…_

_You miss this._

Sherlock did as the voice was told and gave in, pressing the needle into his vein, slowly pushing the plunger down. The brunette tugged at the belt with his teeth and pulled it away from his arm, letting out a groan as the drugs weaved their way through his veins. He moaned and leaned his head back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. Shapes changing as he slipped off into the high.

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Finding Sherlock Holmes in London wasn't easy to begin with, but finding a relapsed, emotionally distraught Sherlock Holmes was damned near impossible. John didn't know how long he had looked, how many places he had went and asked if anyone had seen him.

So far no one had.

It was nearly five am; John finally decided he needed to check 221 B.

John walked up to the building and looked up, there were lights on in his flat, so he assumed he must have come back. The doctor opened the front door and walked up the stairs trying to be quiet not to wake Mrs. Hudson at such an early hour. But when he turned the knob and it didn't budge a sudden feeling of fear went through him.

Digging in his pocket, John grabbed the spare key and opened the door. He took a deep breath before walking in and seeing the brunette on the blood by the couch, laying on his side, need still on the table.

"Shit. Sherlock?" John moved over and gently patted his face. "Come on you, wake up. Sherlock? Can you hear me?" John pushed the table back a little more and took his face to pat it again. "Sherlock. Come on mate talk to me." Finally the brunette's eyes stared to open. He groaned a little and weakly swatted at the hand that was touching him.

"Mmmng… James?"

He managed to hid his eyes from the lights in the flat that were making his head pound. Finally being able to focus on the face of his friend. "What are you doing here? How are you here?"

John furrowed his frowns at him. "James? I'm not James Sherlock, it's John."

"John?"

"John Watson you git."

"John. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be with Mary?"

John arched a brow and moved to help him sit up and lean against the couch. "You are the stupidest prat on that planet, do you know that?" He asked as he leaned Sherlock's head back to check his eyes and then his pulse. Once satisfied he was okay, although higher than hell, he took his arm and inspected the track marks. "Your brother called me, told me there was something wrong with you, you two got in a fight and then you left to look for drugs."

"I never told him I wa—"

"You didn't have to, Sherlock, he just knew and he was bloody right! You're higher than a fucking kite! After all these years, you did so well. Why the hell would you start again." Sherlock looked up at him and shook his head. "John… John, brilliant, stupid John. Because you chose _her._" He mumbled as he looked up a little bit at him. The blond looked confused and hurt at Sherlock's words. "_What?_ What the _hell _are you talking about Sherlock?"

"Stop aching stupid! You chose Mary, over me. So I am choosing drugs over you. Because this…" He pointed to his chest and made a distraught face. "This feeling, I can't do it again. I don't understand it. I don't like it. It's doesn't feel natural to me." John only shook his head. "You're acting like a fucking mad man, and you're going to kill yourself if you keep using these drugs!"

"Well good fucking riddance! What was the point of me coming back when now I'm lonelier than ever?!" Sherlock moved rather quickly to get up and John recoiled back, worried he was going to strike out. "Just get out John." The blond didn't move, holding his ground as he looked over Sherlock. "Sherlock… please, just calm down and list—"

With one quick movement of his foot, Sherlock kicked the table as hard as he could, watching it slide across the room and slam into the fire place. The blond had stepped out of the way quick enough not to get hit as Sherlock looked up at him. "Get. Out." John growled a little ad moved towards the door. "Fine, but Sherlock, I'm still your friend, and I care about you, if you need me you'll know where I am."

John turned and walked down the stairs. The brunette stood there and watched, his chest was heaving as he sunk to the floor, curling his knees to his chest and burying his face.

_You don't matter too him._

_He lies._

_John will never love you the way you love him._

_Never._

_Shoot up._

_It'll keep the pain away._

_Sherlock._

Sherlock looked up at the box on the tabled and panted lightly as he tried to get his breath back. Slowly he walked over and picked up the needle in his shaking hand.

_Do it._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV | Bottom of the Bottle**

John sighed lightly as he looked down at his drink, swirling it around in a circle as he stared. Mary poked her head out from the kitchen and frowned as she watched him. She walked out, drying her hands on the towel as she sat down next to her husband.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

He finally looked up from his glass and towards her, a sigh escaping his lips as he patted her hand. It had been months since he heard from Sherlock. Actually it had been nearly six months. Everyone was afraid of what happened to him. Where he could be, or what he was doing.

Drugs no doubt.

"Why don't you do to the flat and see if he's there John? I know you're scared, but… for his own good. You're his friend, he needs help." The blond only nodded to his wife and took a long drink of his whisky.

"I know he does, but I don't think he's there. Mrs. Hudson would have called if he was there. I mean, he might be a drug addict, but he's a bloody brilliant one. He goes when no one's there, gets what he needs and bolts again."

Mary frowned and opened her mouth to say something, only to be cut off by a loud crack of thunder. John stood and wandered over to the window and opened the curtain a little ways as he watched the rain pour down, silently hoping that Sherlock was somewhere safe.

"John? Are you sure you're okay with me going out tonight?"

The blond man came out of his trace and let the curtain drop, walking over to her and smiling lightly. "Yes, go have fun why you still can okay? I'll be fine." She smiled at him and wrapped her around his neck tightly, round belly bumping into him. "I love you." John smiled, feeling a dull ache in his chest as he thought about Sherlock, despite holding onto his wife. He leaned down and nuzzled his face into her neck before mumbling.

"I love you too."

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Sherlock grunted as the blow landed into his stomach.

It was pouring now, thunder and lightning cracking loudly above him. Every joint and muscle in his body hurt, not including the pain from the three men above him that were now kicking at his chest, breaking ribs.

_They're trying to kill me._

He was so cold.

Freezing and unable to shiver.

Sherlock was convinced this time, he was going to pass out and he wasn't going to wake up again. Once he stopped making noises the men backed off, leaving him bleeding and half-conscious in the street. It took him a long time, before he was able to gasp for air, coming back to consciousness and rolling onto his side with a whimper. There was only one think he could think of. John's words to him all those months ago before he hit the bottom of the bottle like this.

"_If you need me, you know where to find me."_

So the brunette shoved himself up from the ground, falling into one of the walls, relying on it heavily to keep him upwards. Already though his mind was fighting with him about this decision.

_John was the one who turned you back into a junkie!_

"Oh…s-shut the fuck up." He mumbled and stopped, holding his ribs as he looked across the road. "I-If I would have listened to him and now you… I-I wouldn't be here. So shut up."

_What if Mary's there?_

_What if he tells you to go away?_

_What if he just lets you die? _

_Or would it be worse if he sent you to rehab and you never saw him again?_

"Shut up!"

Finally his head went quiet as he started walking towards John's home. It was taking forever to get there as well. He didn't know if he could make it. It was _still _raining and he was freezing.

Looking down at his watch, Sherlock checked the time. Just a little after one in the morning. He panted and looked up at he walked the rest of the distance to the house. He knew what John's house looked like. It was the only one in this whole row of houses with the lights on at one in the morning. The brunette managed to get up the steps and pressed against the door, desperately wanting to be out of the rain. Managing to pull his hand away from his ribs he knocked at the door before starting to slowly slide down the wall, leaning heavily against it. Sherlock shivered and brought his hand up, banging a little harder again. "J-John!"

The blond man muted the telly when he thought he heard knocking, when it came louder than before he was up along with his name he bolted up from the couch over to the door. Taking a step back as Sherlock almost fell in, John stared at him. He was bruised and wet, shivering from the cold. He looked utterly pitiful.

"Sher—"

"John, I need help."

The doctor stood there for a moment, before moving closer to him, gently taking his hand in his. Sherlock weakly squeezed back, tears rising in the bright blue orbs. "John… please. I'm scared, a-and cold. I'm in an enormous amount of pain. Please. I don't understand what I'm feeling, and I don't know how to deal with it." He panted and John reached out his free hand to touch his face. Sherlock instantly nuzzled his frigid skin into the warmth.

"You've always kept me right John. Please help me?"

John moved both hands and wrapped his arms around the freezing, soaked brunette, tugging him close.

"Of course I'll help you, you idiot. Of course I'll help you."

~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~ .:. ~~ .:. ~ .:. ~ ~ .:. ~

John was able to text Mary and get Sherlock in a cab. He held onto him tightly as they rode back his home in the cab. The blond was convinced he was going to pass out before they got there, but Sherlock held onto the little bit of consciousness he had left until they got inside.

He gently laid him down and started to pull of the dirty clothes, redressing him after he cleaned off the blood and grime.

John covered the brunette and walked out of the room, letting him sleep. He kept the door open, knowing as soon as he woke up and started detoxing he would be screaming.

Texting the older Holmes he frowned a little, feeling somewhat at fault for the whole situation.

_To: Mycroft_

_He showed up at my door tonight. _

_He's pretty banged up and was babbling something about 'no rehab'. He wants to do this at home; I'll stay with him at the flat until he's okay, that alright?_

_JW_

He sighed a little and plopped on the couch, rubbing his head as he looked over his phone, staring at it as it buzzed. John paused though at the sound of footsteps, Mary peeked her head in and sighed at the sight of him.

"Is he okay?"

The blond man frowned and shrugged his shoulders a little as he got up and hugged her tightly. "He's alive. Alright? I don't quite know yet. Come on."

He gently pulled her to the bedroom so she could see him. The blond woman covered her mouth and walked over and sat on the bed, soothing his hair back. "Oh Sher."

She mumbled and took the wash cloth to clean a little more of the dirt and sweat away from his face as John walked out the door and looked at his phone to read the message he had gotten from Sherlock's brother.

_To: John_

_He really should be in rehab. But if you think you can help him through this, then I will allow it. Keep me updated on how he is._

_MH _

"Mary."

The blond woman looked over at him, waiting for him to continue talking. "I want you to go home. He's not going to be safe to be around when he wakes up and the last thing he'll want is to accidently hurt you or the baby."

"But John—"

He raised a hand to silence her and smiled a little. "If you would be so lovely as to, not argue with me, I will call you later to make sure you're okay."

Mary stared for a long moment before nodding. She knew he was right about that.

Detoxing from heroin, with all the pain he'll be in, it would be astonishing if he didn't get violent.

"Okay John, but if you need help with him, promise me you'll call someone."

"I will Mary."

She smiled and hugged him tightly, belly bumping against him. "Be careful, text me or something." He nodded and watched as she pulled away from him and looked over at Sherlock, gently moving his tangled hair and kissing his head.

John walked her down the stairs and out the door, taking a chance to warn Mrs. Hudson about what she might hear and to just ignore it. After heading back upstairs, he checked on Sherlock.

Seeing him sleeping soundly, John picked up the flat a little before plopping in his chair and turning on the telly. He listened to it quietly while listening to Sherlock as well.

The brunette didn't stir for a whole two days. John was up constantly checking him and making sure he was okay.

John was making coffee when Sherlock finally came too, small whines coming from the bedroom before a scream.

"John!"

The blond man jerked and turned the coffee off quickly running to the bedroom. "Sherlock—?"

"John, it hurts!"

The blond sat on the bed and gently gripped on hand and his shoulder. "Shhh, I know it hurts Sherlock, that's part of the withdrawal, I'm going to help you through it."

Everything hurt.

Every joint.

Every muscle in him.

Not even to mention the broken ribs, cuts and bruises.

John tried to be as helpful as he could. He gave Sherlock pain medication at one point, but it didn't stay down. He started to dry heave into the trash bin next to the bed. The blond felt horrible as Sherlock cried and gripped his stomach, begging John to make it stop.

There was even one point that he swung at John, of course the blond caught it, but the curses coming out of Sherlock's mouth cut at him a little bit.

"This is your fault, John!"

"Sherlock, hush, you don't mean it."

"I hate you!"

"That's okay."

The detective continued to cry and writhe on the bed for a little while before the pain started to subside. Sherlock was finally able to stomach the pills and a couple biscuits.

"What time is it John?"

Digging in his pocket, John looked at his phone and laid it on the nightstand, looking over at Sherlock from his spot on the floor. "It's a little after nine pm. You were withdrawing for almost thirteen hours." He frowned and gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze, moving his sweat coated hair out of face. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders a little as he let out a small sigh.

"I don't blame you John, you didn't stick the needle in my arm, I did. I shouldn't have blamed you."

"I blame myself a little bit Sherlock. I shouldn't have left that night we fought. That was my mistake." He said as he gently rubbed his thumb over Sherlock's hand. The brunette just sat quietly as he listened to him, eyes dropping away from his.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

Looking up, the blond gasped lightly as Sherlock pressed his lips to his. His brain was screaming at him that he should pull away, but there was something in him that wouldn't allow him to.

Sherlock was kissing him.

_Sherlock _was _kissing _him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V | Say Something, Anything**

John pulled away from him and stared wide eyed at the brunette as he stood, stepping away from him. Sherlock pulled himself into a sitting position, panting softly as he kept his eyes down for a long moment before opening his mouth again.

"John, I lov—"

"Don't Sherlock!"

Aquamarine eyes moved from the floor upwards to John's blue ones, a hurt expression coming over his face. "John, please." The blond pressed his hands into his hair and turned away from him to pace a little. Sherlock watched him quietly, feeling the hurt mounting in his chest.

_I love him. _

_But I can't love him._

_I can't be with him._

_I'm married. _

_I have baby coming._

John stopped pacing and looked at his ring, then over at Sherlock who was handing his head. "Sherlock… t-tell me?" The brunette lifted his head and looked up at John. He opened his mouth and closed it again, having to stop for a moment and take a deep breath to gather his nerves before looking back up at him. "I love you John. I've loved you… for a very very long time and I've never been able to tell you because… Well it's me." He mumbled and looked down at his hands. "I watched you marry Mary, and did nothing. Now you have a baby on the way, and I feel wrong for asking his, well, saying it but… I can't keep going my whole life, my friendship with you and not tell you. I can't keep that in."

"Sherlock." John sighed and looked up at him for a moment before shaking his head. "I can't— I can't respond to that right now. I need to think about it, d-decide what I'm going to do, I mean Mary and the baby… if you would have told me before— Maybe. I'll be back."

The brunette frowned as he looked up at him, slowly looking down at his hands. John fidgets a little, clenching and unclenching his fists. "I just need to think Sher—"

"I understand, just go. I'll be okay."

Moving a little closer, the blond touched his hair, gently rubbing it and he actually gained a smile from Sherlock, chuckling as he nuzzled into the hand. "I'll come back." The brunette nodded and let John put him back into a laying position, facing the other wall so he didn't have to watch John leave all over again. He couldn't watch him leave all over again. There was no way.

And now that his feelings were out in the open, he felt like there was a giant exposed wound for everyone to see and prod at.

He hated that feeling most of all.

More than the withdrawals, or the craving.

Any pain.

It didn't compare to pouring his hear out and being rejected.

Nothing ever hurt as much as that.

And that's how Sherlock felt at the moment.

_**And I am feeling so small, it was over my head**_

_**I know nothing at all**_

_**And I will stumble and fall**_

_**I'm still learning to love, just starting to crawl**_

_**-Say Something**_

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John sat on the couch at home. It had been a week and he was still thinking about what happened. Sherlock kissed him.

He _kissed him! _

Maybe it was just the drugs that made him do it. Maybe he had been feeling it for years just like John ha—

_STOP._

_I'm not gay._

Sherlock was John's friend, he loved him and cared about him as a _friend _and _only _a friend.

Right?

The blond sighed and looked down at the drink in his hand as he swirled it around lightly, looking very lost in thought. Well he was lost in thought. So much so he didn't even hear Mary calling his name.

"John? Hello, are you alive in there?"

He blinked a couple times and recoiled from her and smiled a little. "Mary, yeah, sorry. What it is?" She straightened her back and stared at him, raising a brow.

"I was asking you if you were coming to bed. It's after three." John looked up at the close and sighed, downing his drink quickly before standing.

"Sorry I was thinking. Lost track of the time."

"Pfft, you're as bad as Sherlock."

John stopped as she turned away from him to head towards the bedroom. "Christ."

_This is a stupid idea. _

_You are not gay!_

_You can't be in love with him._

"But I am." He mumbled aloud and Mary turned to look at him. "What John?" The blond looked up and started to stumble over his works before he walked over to her, waking her face and pressing his lips to her forehead. "Go back to bed. I just… I have a bad feeling so I'm going to go check on him."

"John, it's three am, isn't he slee— of course not, he's Sherlock. Alright, go. Let me know if he's okay, alright?" John smiled and pecked her forehead again.

"You're a peach. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon probably. I'll text you."

"Yes, I know. Now get."

Placing the glass on the counter, he walked quickly over to the door to pull on his coat. Once it shut, Mary walked over to look out the window and watch him go before touching her small stomach and heading back to the bedroom.

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John walked quickly over to 221 B, well as fast as he could. He was a little surprised how lively London was at 3 am. But then again, he wasn't use to being out this late anymore. Ever since he got married it had just stopped. He was starting to miss the thrill.

Crave it all over again.

The danger drew him in.

Just like it did for Sherlock in the form of drugs.

But that was stupid to think. John was not addicted to danger; he only missed Sherlock that was all. He was his best friend after all.

Coming up to the building John pulled out the key he still had and stuck it in the hold. He froze there for moment. Trying to gather his thoughts and figure out what he really wanted to do.

What was he even going to say to him?

What could he say to him?

Should he just—

No, that's crazy.

After another thirty seconds he turned the key and pushed the door open before shutting it again and closing the door behind him, locking it again. John lowered his head and took a breath as he headed up the stairs, knocking at the kitchen door when he heard noises in there.

Sherlock turned around from the stove and moved the pan off the burner. "John?" The blond nodded and moved into the kitchen closing the door behind him. "Did you have time to think?" The brunette asked as keen eyes watched as John made his way around the island, stepping close.

Sherlock took a step back, afraid he was angry, since his face was unreadable to him. "John?" The doctor suddenly grabbed the collar of his shirt and tugged him close, looking over his face, watching as he opened his mouth.

"Shut up, don't say anything."

Sherlock's mouth closed again.

John looked at him a little long before he tugged him down and pressed his lips hard against his, gaining a moan from the brunette as he wrapped his arms around John's neck to desperately tug him closer.

When they parted for air Sherlock was panting softly. "John… does this mean?" The blond smirked at him a little and took his face in his hands. "I love you Sherlock."

A sigh of relief mixed with a laugh came from his lips as he leaned down and attached them to his again. John turned them so Sherlock was pressed against the fridge, moving his mouth down to press his lips against Sherlock's pale neck.

Another needy moan from the brunette.

"J-John. Bedroom?"

He felt his heart skip a beat as he looked up at Sherlock and nodded. John grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the room, going inside and shutting the door. Once again their lips pressed against together, needy moans and anxious hands tugging clothes off.

Sherlock flopped down on the bed and pressed his hand against John's chest. "W-Wait…" John pulled back, worried he had crossed the lines as he hovered over Sherlock's pale body, that was still covered in bruises and small cuts.

"What is it? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just…"

"Sherlock, you don't have to do this if you don't want too." John mumbled and started to pull away, only to have Sherlock grab his arm. "Shut up and listen to me. I just have a question… Mary." He said looking up as John sat back on his knees.

"What about her?"

"Are you going to tell her?"

John sat for a long moment staring at Sherlock and thinking of his pregnant wife. He opened his mouth several times before he pushed her out of his mind and went back to hovering over the brunette, leaning down to kiss him again.

"Not yet."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI | Giving You Up**

John had been going to Sherlock's every day. Sometimes he would text Mary and tell her he was spending the night because the detective was so sick or in pain from the withdrawals.

And of course it was true.

Mary believed it.

Well, at least at first she did.

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John flopped to the side, laying on the bed and panting as he tried to get his air back. Sherlock rolled with a small groan and moved to lay on his chest, panting as well, dark hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. "H-Heh…god John." The blond smiled as he watched the brunette twist his nude body around so he could keep his head on John's chest, but look at him as he lightly ran his fingers over the sweaty, tan skin.

"Was it good?"

Lazy blue eyes looked down at him and he nodded. "Mhm~ It was great, as usual. Was it good for you Sher?" Sherlock smiled and closed his aquamarine eyes. "John, what have I told you about stupid questions?"

"You asked first love."

Sherlock let out a warm laugh that made John's heart flutter happily in his chest. He let out a content sigh and moved one hand to sooth back the sweaty curls. "Sherlock."

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to tell Mary."

Opening his eyes, Sherlock looked up at John and pushed himself up a bit so he was looking at him. "Why? Aren't you happy?" The blond couldn't help but laugh softly at the worried expression Sherlock gave him.

"Calm down. That's why I want to tell her. Because being with you like this. Seeing you this way, listening to you laugh and smile. I love knowing I'm the cause of that, and I never want it to end." He explained watching the brunette's face slowly relax as he nuzzled into one of John's hands. "It's not fair, to keep her handing on like this. It's not fair to either of you really. I have to pick on or the other."

"And you pick me?

"Yes I pick you."

The brunette smiled and laid his head back down on the blond's chest, letting out an exhale he had been holding in. "When are you going to tell her?" John hummed and closed his eyes as he thought about it.

When should he tell her?

He knew it wasn't fair to keep them both on the line like that. He did love them both. He felt like he loved Sherlock more.

But Mary—

Mary was pregnant with his daughter.

The thought slightly worried him, that if he told her, maybe she would never let him see her. That was the thought that terrified him the most. He wanted to be a father. He wanted to have his daughter, but if he didn't play this just right he might never get that chance.

John opened his mouth to reply to Sherlock when his phone started going off loudly—

_The traffic lights they turn blue tomorrow and shine their emptiness down on my bed. The tiny island sags downstream, 'Cos the life that they lived is dead._

_And the wind screams Mary._

_Will the wind ever remember the names it has blown in the past, and with this crutch, its old age and its wisdom it whispers, "No, this will be the last."_

_And The Wind Cries Mary._

Sherlock looked over as John grabbed the phone. "Do you have a song with my name when I call you?" He asked in a cheeky tone, making John roll his eyes as he answered. "Hello? Mary?"

"_John?! Oh thank god. C-Can you come home please?!"_

John furrowed his brows and raised a finger to silence Sherlock who was looking slightly worried. "Sure, I've got to punch out, something happen?"

"_Someone tried to break in! They broke a window…"_

John bolted upright, knocking Sherlock off his chest so hard, it felt like he had been slapped. The paler man pulled away and rubbed his cheek with a frown as John looked around for his clothes. "I'll be there soon. Is someone with you?"

"_U-Um, Greg? I think that's his name. The Detective Inspector?"_

"Yeah, that's Greg. Ten minutes love."

John shut the phone and quickly pulled on his clothes, looking over at Sherlock who was holding his face and staring at his nude lap. "Oh… shit, Sherlock are you okay baby?" He moved and over him and lightly took his hand away to look at the red mark.

"What happened?"

"Someone tried to break into the house. I have to go make sure she's okay, but I'll be back." He took his face and pulled him close, giving him a kiss. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to smack you." Sherlock gave in and smiled a little, nodding to him.

"It's alright love. Just go, I'll be here when you get back."

John grinned back at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. "You're a peach. I love you!" The brunette nodded and watched as he ran out of the room.

"I love you too!"

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John raced home, going as fast as the speed limit would allow him. He didn't want to be pulled over and delayed more, soon he was pulling into his spot. The blond got out of the car and walked up the path, stopping when he noticed the windows. All the ones in front were fine.

Must have been a back window, bedroom or something.

Jogging up to the door, he opened it and walked in, stopping at the edge of the living room when he saw Mary sitting there, looking rather unfazed. "You didn't work tonight John. I called and asked." The blond man swallowed and looked at her sternly.

"No one tried to break in? Did they? You're a hell of an actress Mary."

"And you're a liar. Where were you then?" She asked as John moved a little further into the room and sat down on the couch. He looked calm, but inside his heart was hammering like a jack hammer. It actually hurt as he looked over at her. "I have a feeling you know where I was, so why ask?"

"Because I want to be wrong, John."

Her face softened a little and it made John's do the same as he looked over at her. "I was with Sherlock."

"Doing what?"

John was silent and averted his gaze to his lap. "Are you sleeping with him?" John took a moment and considered the best way to answer that, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He sighed and only nodded. The blond woman stood from her stop, moving in front of him. "John." The blond swallowed and looked up at her.

"If you don't stop this I will leave. You will not see your daughter ever, and you know why?"

He shook his head and felt his eyes start to burn at the thought of never seeing his daughter.

"Because Sherlock is dangerous. How many times have you been kidnapped? Hurt? Shot at? You don't love him John. You're addicted to him. That's all it is. A thrilling addiction. I don't want her hurt because of him."

John took a deep shaky breath as he listened to her. She was right, in some ways. Others he wasn't so sure. He certainly didn't think he was addicted to Sherlock, but there was something about him, whenever John saw him.

Looked at him, he felt tingles go up his spine.

"Give him up, John."

"What?"

She sat down next to him and placed her hand over her belly to feel of it. "Give him up for us." The blond man turned his head and looked over at her stomach as he rubbed it. "It'll kill him…"

"John, he's a sociopath. Sociopath's can't love. You're fooling yourself. Please, do it for us."

"Yes."

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Sherlock was sitting quietly in his chair, sipping a bit of coffee when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He smiled brightly and got up, walking over to him when he walked in, wrapping his arms around him. "Mmm. I missed you." He mumbled softly, when John didn't hug him back, he felt a sense of sickening fear run through his stomach. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Is Mary okay?"

John just stood there quietly, staring at his feet and trying to get his words to straighten out in his head. "I— I'm ending this Sherlock. Us." He shook his head and looked up at the brunette, who was just staring at him. "You…" He laughed a little, but it sounded strained and hurt. "You love me. I know you love me, you told me and we—."

"No, Sherlock. I love Mary. I married her, she's the mother of my child, this…" He motioned to them. "This is wrong. You're my best friend, but I'm addicted to you. Addicted to the danger that comes with you, it's not healthy, for either of us and it has to stop." Sherlock could only stare at him in disbelief. He couldn't believe John was saying this to him.

It was like Marc all over again.

"Sherlock, I'm really sor—"

"You _lied _to me."

John looked up at Sherlock, his head had lowered, hair hiding his eyes that were no doubt filled with tears. He wanted to reach out to him. Hold him and tell him he was sorry, but the balled fists made him keep his distance. "You _played _with me. Just like Marc did, but damn it John, I trusted you! I gave you _everything _willingly. Everything!" John recoiled a little as Sherlock raised his head, looking more hurt than angry. "How could you do that to me? I thought you were my friend and you— you threw me away." He swallowed hard, words cracking and barely coming out in anything more than a whisper. Sherlock was breaking, and knowing that he had broken him was causing John to do that same.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock, but— I'm so sor—"

"Shut up. Just stop. No more lies." The brunette took a step away from him. "Just get out… please."

"What? Sherlock please."

"I said get out. Get out. And don't you _dare _ever come back here. Just don't." Tears were escaping from the aquamarine eyes now as he looked over John's face, too emotional to see anything.

"Sherlock you don't mean that. I still— I still want to be you're friend."

The detective let out a bitter, hurt sounding laugh as he shoved him back and pointed to the door. "I said get the fuck out and don't you dare ever come back! You aren't my friend… I don't have _friends._" He scowled taking a step back and slamming the door, the lock clicking.

_God, what have I done?_

John touched the door, feeling sharp tears prickling in his eyes as he listened to Sherlock thud against the door and start to sob.

_I'm so sorry._

_What have I done to you Sherlock?_

John started down the stairs, looking back up them once as silence took over 221 B, Baker street.

Silence and soft sobs.

_He's a sociopath._

_Sociopath's can't love._

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_**And I will swallow my pride**_

_**You're the one that I love**_

_**And I'm saying goodbye**_

_**-Say Something; A Great Big World.**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII | Quiet Inside**

John opened the door to the flat, Mary had gone to the bedroom, but he didn't feel like following her. The blond flopped on the couch with a groan and stared up at the ceiling as he thought to himself about the whole situation. He was so angry with himself for hurting Sherlock like that. He was sure that he had never made him cry like that.

Pure hurt.

It literally made his chest hurt to think about what he told him.

_You aren't my friend… I don't have friends._

"Shit. He completely reverted back…"

"John?"

"What?" He mumbled sharply as he continued to stare at the ceiling. He hadn't bothered to look at her as she padded across the carpet floor in her socked feet, before stopping next to him. "You did it then? Told him it was over?"

He was silent for a moment before nodding to her. "Yes, I told him."

Mary was quiet as she looked at him. "Did he take it badly? Did you tell him you still wanted to be his friend?"

"Of course I did, you daft bint." He growled and moved to sit up and look at her. "How do you think he bloody took it? This man, had completely shut himself off to the world. When I first met him, he didn't care about anything but his cases. I got him to open up and to care about people. I told him I loved him, and I slept with him. And all of a sudden I come back and tell him 'No, I don't love you. This is wrong.' I stomped on his heart." John stood and looked her over. "For you. Because you asked me too. And for this baby. My best friend. My only friend and I threw him away like a piece of trash. You know what he told me?"

Mary shook her head, keeping her ground as she watched him. Even if John was angry, all he would do would do is yell. She knew there was no danger.

"He told me I used him. That I was just like everyone else. He told me to get out and never fucking come back." The blond yelled and kicked over the coffee table. "You're not my friend. I don't have friends. All the work we did to get him to open up just went down the shitter."

Mary opened her mouth to say something and John just shook his head, plopping down on the couch. He shook his head and kept his eyes away from her. "You need sleep. Please go to bed. I don't want to stress you out anymore."

The blond woman stood there for a moment before nodding and headed back to the bedroom. John dropped his head into his hands and sighed. He had never been so torn in his life.

He didn't love Mary.

But he did love his baby.

But he also loved Sherlock.

John looked down at his phone and decided to send him a message.

_[ To: Sherlock_

_I'm asking you, as you're friend, don't do anything stupid. Please._

_I'm sorry._

_JW ]_

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Sherlock was sitting on the floor, back still against the door. Breathing coming out in soft pants as he cried himself out. He couldn't believe that this was actually happening to him. He didn't want to believe it was happening to him. That once again, he trusted someone and all it did was get him burned. He had risked his life for John, watched him get married, but then…

He had him.

For the last couple months.

_He figured out you manipulated him, you psychopath._

"Shut up. I didn't manipulate him, I just— I kissed him is all."

_Liar. _

_After his weeding you went and got as high as you could for three months, then went crawling to him, "Oh John please help me."_

_You're the one who used him! _

_Used him to get what you wanted._

"No! Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut the bloody hell up!" Sherlock screamed and grabbed his hair tightly, starting to sob once again. "Stop, just please… stop it. I love him. I just—" Sherlock choked on a sob. "I just wanted him to know… how much he meant to me. I'm not a psychopath, psychopaths can't love!"

_Are you sure it's really love you feel?_

The brunette opened his mouth to retort to the voice in his head when he heard his phone go off. It was something that he had learned to play for John, he said it was his favorite. Getting up from the floor he walked over to the table and snatched it up. His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly click the phone to actually read the message. But when he finally opened it, the tears started to flow from his eyes again before anger build up in his chest replacing the almost crushing hurt. Sherlock let out a yell as he threw his phone at the window, watching it shatter and play to the asphalt below the window. He panted hard and tried to get the boiling emotions to sooth, but everything he did, everything he thought about it all went back to the same place.

John.

Sherlock screamed again, letting his anger come out. The brunette couldn't keep his emotions in check anymore and let every ounce of rage and sadness through him as he tore his flat apart. He broke the mirror, flipped over chairs and tables, tossed everything he could get his hands on to the floor before stopping to look around. He was sniffling and wiping at his eyes angrily. Finally Sherlock managed to take a breath, frowning at the mess, he walked into the kitchen and grabbed his keys, shoving his feet into his trainers before walking down the stairs to his motorcycle.

_What are you doing Sherlock?_

"I don't want to cry anymore, I'm done crying over something that was a lie. That meant nothing. So I'm doing the next best thing."

_Which is?_

"Getting high and never coming down."

The motorcycle roared to life as he hit the kick start.

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One week passed.

Then two.

Then a month.

And another.

Two months with no sign or word from Sherlock. Mycroft was at a loss of what to do. He was halfway tempted to call Lestrade and report his brother as a missing person. But if he knew someone was looking for him, then they really never would find him.

And it might be too late by the time they did.

The quiet sound of knocking at the front door drew the older Holmes brother out of his head. He stood up and hurried to the door before taking a moment to pause. There was always a chance that the heroin would make him violent and if it did, Mycroft didn't want to end up with broken bones because he was rash and didn't take precautions.

Through the peep hole though, he did see his brother. He didn't look bad. A little fuzzy, but mostly just… hollow. Mycroft looked over his eyes, well at least tried but they were hidden behind his hair.

Slowly the older brother opened the door, looking him over again. "Sherlock? Are you okay? We haven't seen or heard from you in two months."

"I'm fine, I just need a different shirt, and then I'm leaving again."

Mycroft's blue eyes looked down at his bloodied and torn shirt, stepping aside as his brother shoved his way into the house, going to the room that he knew had clothes in it that would fit him. "Sherlock," Mycroft started and shut the door, following after him. "Will you stop for a moment and walk to me please? What happened to you? Are you okay? And I don't mean just telling me you're okay." He stood by the door and watched as his brother changed. His back and chest were filled with cuts.

"I'm fine. Not that you really care." He retorted as he pulled the t-shirt on with a small wince as he pulled it down, soothing it against his flat stomach. Sherlock turned and walked towards the door, but Mycroft stood his ground and didn't let him pass.

"Move."

Mycroft shook his head. "I do care Sherlock, now please. What happened?"

"John told you right?"

The old brother nodded to him. "Yes?"

"Just like Marc. I'm done pretending that people actually care about me. Everyone I love, goes away in the end. Dad, you, John… James." He let out a sigh, his face going soft and childlike for a moment before he inhaled and looked up at him. "You were right, caring isn't an advantage."

"Sherlock, you need to stop and listen. I'm sorry I pushed you away when dad died and I'm sorry that it hurt you so much when James died and… god I can't begin to understand what it was like with Marc and what happened with John, but I do love you. You're my little brother. I just want to know you're okay."

Sherlock stared at his brother and tilted his head to the side a little bit, "You want to know how I am? Really how I am? I am quiet inside. Finally, I've locked it all away and I feel _nothing._"

The older man looked a little taken aback as Sherlock shoved past him. "You're treading on dangerous water brother. You're stepping into psychopath territory." The younger brunette turned and looked back at him only shrugging his shoulders. "I don't care." He mumbled and turned away from him.

"This isn't what James would want. He would be disappointed in you."

Sherlock froze where he stood and gasped like that all the air had been stolen from his chest at just the mention of his older brother's name.

"D-Disappointed in me?"

_Of course he would Sherlock. James would hate you for what you are right now._

The brunette whimpered and gripped his hair, body starting to shake. "You're lying, stop lying to me. Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!" He screamed and leaned his head down. Mycroft stared at him nervously. "S-Sher— I um… I didn't mean to make you upset, but I know he wouldn't like you thinking like this. He loved you more than anything."

He slowly released his dark curls and straightened himself, the older Holmes brother moved forward and touched his back, just wanting to make sure he was okay. He was forced to step back quickly when Sherlock yelled and swung at him. Mycroft's eyes went big as he struggled to get away from him, only to be pinned to the wall, Sherlock's forearm pressing against his throat. His aquamarine eyes were wild and filled with tears as he stared at Mycroft's face.

"You… don't get to talk about him. You pushed him away. Just like you did me. You never even visited him when he was dying!" A sob caught in his throat and he shoved the older man away before storming out of the house, leaving his brother to stare at where he had gone.

Once again the bike roared to life and squealed as he pulled away. Tears were streaming down his face as he tried to get away from the house. He could hardly see.

_Pain._

_Heartbreak._

_Loss_

_Death._

_It's all good._

Sherlock closed his eyes for a split second and suddenly the sound of squealing tires echoed sharply in his ears. He looked over to see a car coming at his bike. He could feel it slam into the side of him. His leg was broken instantly. His hands released the handlebars and flew through the air, hitting the pavement with a crack.

More broken bones.

He rolled and his bike screeched across the asphalt. Suddenly everything was silent.

He couldn't feel anything and only stared through the broken visor on his helmet.

_It's all good._

People were running around and screaming for help. He only knew because he could see their mouth moving. Silently yelling for other's to call 999 or emergency services.

Sherlock blinked a little as he stared up at the man who was talking to him. "Sir? Who can we call for you? Can you tell me your name?"

"S-Sherlock."

His voice was hardly a whisper but the man nodded to him.

"C-Call… Call J-John. J-John Watson."

Darkness invaded his vision and all the noises were gone, replaced with silent nothingness.

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John was silent as he stared at the telly. It was chattering about something or other that he didn't really care about. He was still worried about Sherlock. He hadn't heard from him in two months. When he went to the flat it was destroyed.

_Where could he be?_

"John? Are you going to eat?"

The blond blinked coming out of his trance before nodding to Mary from where he sat. "Yeah, sorry." The woman sighed and opened her mouth to say something, only to be cut off when the phone started to ring. She waddled back into the kitchen and John let out a sigh of relief as he placed it plate down. He didn't want to eat anything.

"John."

"Mary, I'm not hun—" He turned and looked over at her. She looked terrified as her shaky hand held out the phone to him. "It's Sherlock…" He stood up and reached for the phone. "Sherlock?"

"Someone about Sherlock."

John froze and felt his stomach drop. "Is he— is he dead?" She shook her head and held out the phone to him, seeming more urgent. "Please just take it." He nodded and snatched the phone from her, pressing it to his ear. "H-Hello?"

"_Doctor Watson? This is Doctor Marks from St. Bart's. Are you friends with Sherlock Holmes?"_

"Y-Yes. What happened to him? Is he okay?" There was a pause and a sigh.

"_Mr. Holmes ran a stop sign on his motorcycle and was hit by a car. His blood work came back and confirmed he had heroin in his system, along with a few other things."_

"Is he alive?"

"_Yes, but just barely. Both legs are broken, along with other multiply bones. He's in a coma. But he might not make it through the night."_

John could feel his eyes starting to sting. "I— Thank you. I'll be there as soon as I am." John pulled his hand back and clicked the button to end the call before lowering his head and covering his eyes.

"John?"

"He might not make it through the night… I—" He looked over at her and stood. "Please Mary, please let me go to him. I can't let him be alone, i-if he dies…"

"Shh."

The blond woman cupped his face and shushed him, leaning her forehead against his.

"Go."

John choked on a sob and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry, Mary. He needs me."

"Shh… I know. I understand John. Just go, please."

_Just go._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII | Down the Rabbit Hole**

Sherlock looked around to see where he was, nothing but white blinding lightly and that damned siren. He couldn't think with all the pain and the ear splitting whine. It made his ears ring. When the bright light started to fade, he was still in a white room, looking around he really didn't see anything.

"_Sherlock."_

The brunette blinked at the familiar voice. Twenty years and he never forgot it. Not like the rest of the world had. He would always remember. "James?" He called and turned again to see a door.

It hadn't been there before.

Sherlock had done a full circle and he knew there hadn't been a door. Did he dare go towards it? He didn't even know where he was to be honest. But there was one thing he did now and that was that his older brother was dead. There was no coming back, no matter how much he wanted it.

"_Come here, bumblebee."_

The word made him stop dead for a split second before running towards the door. There was only one person who called him that.

"James?!"

Sherlock yelled his brother's name, pulling open the door and stumbling through. It was like stepping off a ledge and tumbling down into the dark. There were walls around him, he could feel it as he hit them. He fell before a long time before landing with a thud at the bottom. Letting out a soft groan the brunette rolled onto his side and looked around through his hazy vision, whimpering a little bit as a dark figure came towards him. "W-Where am I? J-James? Is that-? James?"

The figure came out of the dark. A taller man with short curly auburn hair. He looked exactly like Sherlock only he was defiantly older, kinder looking. His own set of aquamarine eyes looked up the tunnel where he had fell from. "You fell down the rabbit hole."

"The rabbit hole? Like from—"

"Alice in Wonderland. Yeah. Remember I use to read it to you?"

Sherlock nodded and rolled on his back, looking up at the dark hole. The only light coming from the white room he had been in.

"You left the door open, Sherlock."

He laughed weakly and looked over at James. "Where am I really? You're dead. I saw your body. I watched them bury you. So how are you here?" He asked as he fought to keep himself awake, wanting an answer. The older man moved and knelt next to him, soothing his hair out of his face. "I'll tell you when you wake up bumblebee. You need rest for now."

"Why?"

"Because you've got a hell of a journey coming when you wake up again."

Sherlock looked at his brother and gave one last sigh before letting his eyes shut, darkness engulfing him.

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John panted as he walked up into the hospital. He moved over to the nurse's station and paused, leaning his head down to try and caught his breath. "Doctor Watson! What— are you here for Sherlock Holmes?" John quickly nodded his head as he looked up at him. "God— yes, I'm here for Sherlock, please, please I have to see him. Is he— well… is he alive?" She nodded to him and moved around the counter, waving him to follow her to intensive care.

"He's alive but really bad off. He's got four broken ribs, punctured lungs, both of his legs are broken, his pelvis is shattered, and they had to fuse a few pieces of his spin together with metal. We're pretty sure that he won't be paralyzed but we don't know until he wakes up. If he wakes up…" She tapered off and stopped at the door, looking at John again.

"He's also got a broken shoulder and wrist. His face is all cut up too, the visor on his helmet was smashed when he rolled, and the muscles in his neck are all tore up. I'm warning you, he's in _really _bad shape."

The blond only listened to her as he tried to get the words to absorb in his head. Sherlock had so much damage, if he lived there was no way he would be the same. He would have to go through so much therapy.

_What if he can't work?_

_What if he can't think?_

_God, he'll hate me._

…_he'll want to die._

John shook his head and swallowed, looking up at her. "What else? Is there more?" The young blond nurse looked over his face and nodded a little. "He's not breathing on his own, but his brain activity has been extremely strong, so the doctors think he'll be fine when he come out of it. I-If he comes out of it."

Once against the blond doctor nodded to her and pointed to the door. "Can I do in now please?" She nodded and put her hand on the knob. "He's not breathing on his own either. S-So you know."

Finally she opened the door and allowed him into the room, scooting past her towards the bed. "Sherlock…" He frowned a little and looked over at him to take his hand gently. "You… stupid fucking twat." He growled a little as he brought his hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

"Don't do this to me. No again, I can't deal with that again Sherlock…"

John grabbed the chair and pulled it up to the bed so he could be close to him, although it didn't feel like he was close enough. There was no way he could be close enough like this. Leaning his head down he pressed his forehead against his morphine warmed hand. John took a deep breath and moved some of the long curls out of his face. The blond sighed and rubbed his head as a knock came at the door, it opened slowly and an older doctor that John knew came inside. He walked over and shook John's hand. "What do you know?" The blond swallowed and looked over Sherlock as he gripped his hand. "Well, he's pretty banged up, that's for sure. He's got some sort of brain damage right?"

The older man nodded to him. "He rolled hard and bashed his head up good. There was some swelling around the frontal lobe, but the drugs he was on that's what it really was. He was pretty much over dosed. Or at least he was damned close to it. I want you to know John," He moved and pressed his hand against his shoulder. "He might not come out of this. There is a big possibility right now that Sherlock will die. The only thing we can do is wait for him to wake up, understand?"

John looked over at Sherlock, gently gripping his hand tighter, praying for him to say something or squeeze back but nothing happened. The machines kept the same rhythm, the room echoing around them.

"John?"

"I understand, thank you doctor. I'm just… going to stay with him." The gray haired man nodded to him. "Nurse will be in later to check on him." John only nodded to him, not watching as the door shut.

"You hear them? Now you have to prove them wrong. You have to. So wake up. Wake up soon, Sher. I know it hurts, and I know you're tired, but Sherlock please. Please wake up. Don't die on me. Don't go where I can't follow you."

John leaned his head down against Sherlock's knuckle, eyes starting to burn from the tears.

_Don't go where I can't follow you._

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The brunette blinked his eyes in the darkness, there was a little more light than before. But it wasn't illuminating from the room itself but from the auburn haired man holding a torching. "James?"

"Good morning bumblebee. Ready to get going?"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and slowly moved to sit up, wincing as he did. "Ooh yeah, I suppose you are feeling that despite the morphine you have outside of here."

"Morphine?"

James nodded to him and sighed a little as he looked down at him. "Oh kiddo. You got yourself in some serious trouble." He stood up and started to pace. "For one thing, you were so high you almost overdosed. Stupid on your part love." Sherlock frowned as he watched his older brother pace around him. "Then, the second stupid thing you did was take that motorcycle out when you were high as a kite. You ran a stop sign so now." He gestured to the room around him. "You've got a ton of broken bones, a head injury and you're in a coma, you won't come out of on your own, but." James leaned down and took Sherlock's face in his hands and looked over him with sad aqua eyes.

The look made Sherlock feel like a child all over again. He hated that look in his brother's eyes more than anything. It made his heart hurt, because the only thing he could remember from that look, was when James told him he was dying.

"Do you trust me, Sherlock?"

The younger brother nodded to him and swallowed hard. "Of course I trust you. I'd always trust you."

"Good, because I'm the only way you're going to wake up." James stood and held out his hand for him, lifting him from the floor. "Now, what we have to do, if find our way back to the door. Not that door." He said pointing to the one above them that suddenly slammed shut. "The exit. The real one. There's something keeping you here, some trauma that you haven't faced and its keeping you locked inside your head. So bumblebee, close your eyes, and bring us to the first place your mind goes."

Sherlock looked over his brother's face for a moment before gripping his hand and closing his eyes tightly. The room felt like it was spinning before sounds of someone cursing in Russian. The younger Holmes felt panic grow in his chest. He was afraid to open his eyes, but a soft tug at his hand made him do it.

Looking around the windowless room, it was dark, dirty. Dirt floors, cement walls, no cot, and only a pair of chains on the wall. Sherlock whimpered and pressed himself back against the wall. He felt like he was going to have a panic attack as he looked around.

"Where are we Sherlock?"

"R-Russia. After the fall, I went to France and they grabbed me. For two years I was kept in here. High on drugs to make me docile, they tortured me James."

The door flung open and there was another person laying on the floor like he wasn't moving. The guard moved over to check him, when suddenly hands flew up, grabbing his head and twisting.

_**SNAP!**_

The guard thudded to the floor and the thin, long haired man moved, stealing the gun and running out of the cell. James gripped Sherlock's hand and followed after him, watching as he fired, fighting his way out of the bunker.

"That was you? You had to kill men?"

Sherlock nodded and took a breath, staring down at his feet. "No one even asks, what I was doing all those years. Not that I would ever tell anyone, but." He let out a pained laugh and rubbed his head. "I'm a horrible person."

"Hey."

"James I've killed so many people."

James paused and looked around as the memory changed again. They were standing on a hill side, looking over at a smoldering car. A little boy was inside crying, shaking his father.

"_Wake up! Daddy, wake up! We need to go home! Mummy a-and James and Mycroft are waiting… daddy… my head hurts. Please daddy… wake up and make it better."_

James frowned and turned to him. "That wasn't your fault Sherlock. A truck ran the stop sign."

"But he died protecting me!"

The older brother's eyes went sad again as the memories behind him flickered, like a television station that didn't quite work. They were in the house again. Sherlock home alone with Mycroft before the funeral.

"_It's your fault he died! If you hadn't insisted on that stupid tree house and going with him, he'd still be here! You killed dad!"_

"This is the night you ran away—"

"He hates me still." Sherlock piped up, though his voice cracked when he did. "He's right, it was my fault. I hate that I didn't die in Russia. I should have died in Russia."

James grabbed his shoulders and shook him, trying to make him snap out of it. "You listen to me Sherlock Oliver Holmes! You can't die. It's not time." The brunette looked over his brother's face, keen eyes somewhat duller than before. "Why not? What if I don't want to wake up, what if I want to stay with you?"

"Bumblebee… I don't need you anymore. But there is someone who does."

Sherlock blinked as the gray snow and static surrounded them. When the static cleared, it was Sherlock and John laying in bed. Naked and tangled in the sheets. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he was curled around the blond as he stroked his hair and kissed it, blue eyes gazing over his pale form lovingly.

"John Watson loves you, Sherlock. He needs you. So you can't stay with me. You have to go back."

Sherlock swallowed hard as he stared at the memory before nodding.

"You're right."


End file.
